


summer in a golden church

by evewithanapple



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: Violet devises an afternoon alone with Amelia.





	summer in a golden church

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexandria (heartfullofelves)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/gifts).



The men Violet’s fucked never came to her for tenderness. If that’s what they wanted, they would have sought out a doxy who didn’t screw in dark alleyways, with her skirts hitched up around her waist just long enough for them to get inside her and thrust to completion. Nor has Violet ever wanted more from then; so long as she has guineas in her purse and the freedom to come and go as she chooses, her culls can fuck as quickly as they please. It pleases her to have them that way.

The women she’s had are scarcely much better, for all that they didn’t pay for her favours. They sought out a bit of mutual pleasure, fricatrice with hands and tongues, before they went on their way. If they see each other in the streets later, they might exchange a knowing smirk, but that’s the end of it. None of them are looking for a lasting love.

Violet’s quite sure Amelia shares none of her experience or knowledge in this area; she might know a bit, just from growing like a wildflower on London’s dirtier streets, but the details almost certainly escape her. Violet doesn’t especially care to enlighten her, either. Amelia’s too soft for a quick fuck in a grubby alley. If she’s to be inducted into the life, Violet thinks, she should have a soft bed in front of a warm fire, time enough to disrobe slowly and carefully, to luxuriate on smooth sheets and the press of warm flesh. Time enough to grow comfortable with another’s gaze – because Amelia’s never let anyone look on her that way, another thing Violet’s certain of – and to return it. All the time and comfort money can buy.

The trouble is, of course, that neither of them have money. Or comfort. Or time.

But Violet’s not one to be put off by obstacles; she knows what she wants, and she plans to have it. The details are just a matter of creativity.

* * *

 

“Nance lets us stay,” she explains, ushering Amelia through the door. “Doesn’t ask for rent or takings from our culls or nothing. Good woman.”

Amelia’s eyes dart around. Violet wonders what she thinks of the interior; it’s no palace, that’s for sure, but then Amelia and her mother have spent a decent portion of their lives on the streets. If she’s disturbed by anything she sees, it might be Nancy’s punching bag or the whip hanging on the wall – Violet hadn’t bothered to take either down.

“Is she your . . .” Amelia pauses, like she’s rolling the word around in her mouth. “. . . bawd?”

“Nah.” There’s an empty bottle on the floor; Violet kicks it, sending it rolling under the table. “A real bawd’s one like Mrs. Wells, who take half your wages for themselves. Nancy’s not like that.” Amelia’s still looking around, though at what, Violet doesn’t know; the room’s small enough that it can be taken in at a glance. She puts a hand on Amelia’s elbow, guiding her. “Betsey and I sleep through here.”

Betsey’s not home; neither is Nancy. The latter is visiting at Greek Street, and the former is . . . God only knows where. Off with her clerk, maybe. Violet doesn’t especially care, so long as neither of them come back while Amelia’s visiting, and she doesn’t think they will.

Violet’s room is really nothing but a single bed that bulges against all four walls, but it _is_ a bed, and that’s the important part. She doesn’t want to start there, though, so she pauses in the doorway and lays a soft kiss against Amelia’s lips. Gentle, slow; let her take it in stages. It’s several moments of chaste, followed by Violet pressing her tongue gently against Amelia’s lips; she inhales sharply, but also opens her mouth to let Violet in. Her hands on Violet’s waist grow tighter, and she makes little noises in the back of her throat as Violet strokes the inside of her mouth with her tongue. When Violet makes to withdraw, Amelia chases her, pressing her back against the doorframe. Violet lets her, enjoying the reversal; of the two of them, she’s usually the pursuer. Then she lifts a hand to pull at the buttons on Amelia’s dress, and Amelia hesitates.

“All right?” she says softly.  Amelia nods mutely, and Violet proceeds to undo her buttons, her laces, the knot of her shawl – God above, how many clothes can one woman _wear_? Violet has only her dress and stays, and even them are too much sometimes – until Amelia is bare down to her shift. Violet fumbles with her own laces, and manages to undress herself in much better time. Now that they’re both bare but for thin layers of muslin, Violet can proceed with her original intention: pulling Amelia’s shift down to her waist and, for the first time, caressing her breasts.

Amelia arches up into her touch almost immediately, mewling and pressing her face into the curve of Violet’s neck to muffle herself. Violet chuckles, running her free hand up and down Amelia’s side in a soothing motion. So she likes this; good to know. Then again, given how little she’s experienced up to this point, it’s possible that _everything_ Violet does will provoke this sort of reaction. If so, fine; she can finesse her technique later. If the most Amelia can complain of afterwards is that the experience was too pleasurable, Violet’s done a good job.

For her part, she’s enjoying herself immensely. Amelia’s breast is a soft, satisfying weight in her hand, and the noises Amelia makes whenever Violet runs her thumb over her nipple sends a pleasurable quiver through Violet. There’s something gratifying about this, in way that she never finds with culls. Perhaps it’s that Amelia expects nothing of her, and takes her caresses as a gift rather than an obligation on Violet’s part. Or perhaps it’s because Violet actually _likes_ Amelia, and takes pleasure in the soft noises of desire she’s making; the evidence that she truly wants this, and that Violet’s touches are having their intended effect.

Amelia’s hands are trembling when she lifts them to touch Violet, and she makes a questioning sound as her hands hover above Violet’s skin. Violet pulls her mouth away from Amelia’s neck long enough to say “go on,” then groans aloud when Amelia takes her at her word. Her touches are clumsy, to be sure, but they have a charm all their own. The only thing Violet regrets is that, in this position, she can’t bend her head to kiss and lick at Amelia’s nipples. She’s sure that she could get a reaction by doing so, but there’s no way to manage it without dislodging Amelia’s hands, and she doesn’t want that.

Still a change in position could be useful. She pulls away from Amelia long enough to murmur, “there’s the bed.” Again, Amelia hesitates, but it’s only for a moment – an even more fractional moment than before. She nods.

Getting them positioned properly on the bed is a bit of a challenge; they end up with Amelia sitting back against the headboard while Violet straddles her thighs, still kissing and running her hands over every bit of exposed skin she can find. It’s hard to resist rocking against Amelia’s leg where it sits between hers’, and she does give in to the temptation a little. To keep herself from giving over to the urge to rock herself to completion, she slides down Amelia’s body, pushing the edge of her shift up and kissing her breasts and stomach. She runs her hands up and down Amelia’s bared thighs, considering. They could sit here kissing all afternoon, rocking together until they’re both spent. But . . .

“This all right?” she asks, as her hands creep further up Amelia’s inner thighs. Amelia’s eyes are wide, pupils nearly blown out with excitement and desire. Her hands rest on Violet’s shoulders, in her hair. She nods.

Violet gives her a minute or two to adjust to the idea, bending down to kiss and nip at the soft skin of her hips. She’s skinny enough that Violet can feel the hard bone pressing against her tongue, but the skin itself is pale and untouched. She runs her hands up and down Amelia’s legs, drawing closer each time to the place she really wants to reach, until she finally – _finally_ – slides her fingers among Amelia’s curls.

Amelia keens above her, squirming, but it’s not a motion borne of discomfort; rather, Violet thinks she’s trying to react to every new sensation at once and flailing wildly as a result. Violet keeps her touches light, just brushing against her lips – and she’s wet, truly, so wet and warm and ready for her – before she lets herself probe further, curling her fingers up against her. Amelia’s thighs tighten around her, like she’s trying to trap Violet in place. Violet laughs. “Easy,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She keeps it gentle, rubbing in an exploratory motion across Amelia’s folds. They’ve gotten this far without rushing things, and there’s no need for her to break stride now. And with Amelia still making such lovely sounds, why would she want to? She listens carefully for a shift in Amelia’s breathing, indicating that she’s grown accustomed to the motions of Violet’s fingers. When she hears it, she goes a step further, pushing her fingers upwards until she finds the tiny bud of flesh she’s looking for.

Amelia _screams_ then, back arching, head thrown against the headboard. Violet hides a smirk against Amelia’s thigh, continuing the circling motion of her fingers. She’d wanted to do more, put her tongue against Amelia and taste her arousal – but it won’t be today. She can tell. The muscles in Amelia’s legs are clenching, and her breathing is growing faster by the second. Her eyelids flutter. “Violet, I don’t - I’m not -“

“Shhhh.” Violet can’t kiss Amelia to silence her, so she does the next best thing and mouths at her side. “It’s all right. Come for me, yeah?”

She does. She presses her fist against her mouth, eyes squeezed tight shut, face pink and lovely. Violet strokes her through it, only withdrawing when Amelia shifts in what seems to be discomfort rather than arousal. She crawls back up the bed and kisses Amelia on the lips, breathing in her sigh. “Good?”

“Ohh.” Amelia opens her eyes again, looking directly into Violet’s. Her gaze is wide and startled, but somehow also impossibly tender. Violet finds herself wanting to look away. “I never – I didn’t know.”

“Mmm.” Violet kisses her again. “You like it?”

“It’s . . .” Amelia’s evidently struggling to find the words. “It doesn’t seem like what you – like what men do with women. With harlots. It’s – it feels good.” Her gaze searches Violet’s. “Is it always?”

“With men?” Violet chuckles. “Lord no. That’s business.” She strokes Amelia’s exposed hair. “This is pleasure.”

Amelia nods slowly. “You . . .” She blushes again. “What about you? What can I do for you?”

Oh, there are things Violet would love to teach her: how to move her fingers, how to use her tongue, how they could overwhelm each other with pleasure. Perhaps she could even introduce her to the idea of instruments, how they can surpass the equipment men are born with. But those are lessons for the future; this is only her first time, and Violet doesn’t want to overwhelm her. “Here,” she says. “give me your hand.”

Amelia holds her hand out, all open trust. Violet takes it and reaches under her shift, helping Amelia touch her where she’s just touched Amelia. Once she’s gotten Amelia’s fingers in position, she starts to rub against her. “You feel that?” she says against Amelia’s ear. “That spot? That’s what you want to find – every time – “ She rocks harder. She was already aroused just from listening to Amelia’s responses, so it takes only minutes for her to clench hard around Amelia’s hand and pant her release out against Amelia’s neck. When she’s done, she pulls Amelia’s hand gently away and leans against her, Amelia a warm weight underneath her. She kisses Amelia’s neck, then her hair, then finally her mouth again. She can taste the sweat on Amelia’s skin. Amelia is quiet underneath her, her arms resting loosely around Violet’s waist. Her head tilts against Violet’s, their foreheads resting together.

“When does your mother expect you home?” Violet murmurs after several quiet minutes. She hadn’t really wanted to raise the subject at all, but the idea of Mrs. Scanwell raising the alarm over her daughter’s absence – or worse coming to find her – is enough to loosen her tongue.

Amelia shakes her head. “Not ‘til seven bells. She’s resting.”

“Good.” It’s just past five now; they have time. Maybe not time to go another round (it _is_ Amelia’s first time, after all; Violet wants to take her time on the second pass, and she can’t do that properly while listening for the bells) but enough to sit here and enjoy each other as the city grows dark around them. She lets herself rest against Amelia and breathes, long and quiet, a sigh of pleasure that needs no explanation or reply.

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally started plotting this out before season two aired . . . and then got promptly jossed when it _did_ air. Assume this takes place sometime between seasons one and two.


End file.
